


orlesian wine

by aislingthebard



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 08:46:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7795168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aislingthebard/pseuds/aislingthebard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Julien Charbonneau and Persephone Trevelyan spend a pleasant evening together</p>
            </blockquote>





	orlesian wine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thatgirlwho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatgirlwho/gifts).



Maker, she hated that dog.

If one could even call it that. Papillon looked like a white ball of fluff, balancing itself on spindly legs, with eyes as black and cold as a beetle shell, while lounging on top of her favorite pillows. Gaspard kept him out of sentimentality. It had once belonged to his dear late sister, and now roamed freely about his Chateau, running with the Orlesian war dogs, who somehow accepted the spoilt nuisance. And hate came mutual. Persephone couldn't even enter a room with that ugly creature present. It would start to bark and growl and fight like a dragon and it snapped at her regularly. Gaspard seemed to be amused, even allowed Papillon into their shared bed, not caring about white fur being shed on expensive silk, or flesh wounds on her legs. One day, she'd just kill it and blame some wolves. Gaspard's grief would be swift and hard and quickly forgotten. After all, his sister died a traitor and his code of honor forbid him to even speak her name.

Persephone threw a pillow, but Papillon didn't bat an eye. Just sat there, staring, unmoving, untouched.

“Ugly beast.” 

A slender woman entered the room, eyes cast downward, and probably saving that dog’s life. 

“Your Radiance, your guest has arrived.” She cringed a bit at the title, but being the betrothed of the Emperor of Orlais came with a lot of responsibilities and titles and tight dresses and masks, but also with passionate nights and tasty food, so Persephone decided not to complain that much about her current situation.

“Please see that we're left alone for the rest of the evening and take that with you, Margaret.” Papillon barked, but the servant handled him with a surprisingly firm hand.

Good.

Her guest was no other than the famous Julien Charbonneau, handsome as ever, neatly and perfectly dressed and groomed, not a hair out of line. She opened her arms, but refrained from a hug, because the servants were observing them and probably taking notes for Gaspard.

“Julien! Savior of my night. I've almost died of boredom.” Persephone kissed his cheeks and it earned her a wide smile.

“Finally someone, who is absolutely delighted by my presence.” They linked arms.

“Who wouldn't?” It seemed a rhetorical question, because she know him well enough to have earned some glimpses of his past. His role as the patron of nightly debauchery made people both despise and love him and Persephone still felt the blush in her cheeks, when she thought about his gatherings and the first time, she had seen all those naked bodies.

“Oh, I keep a list beneath my pillows with the names of all the people, who detest me.” Julien spoke with a certain nonchalance, but Persephone didn't doubt that there was some truth to it. The Grand Game was about stabbing people in the back repeatedly, remembering your foes and dealing with them. She preferred a frontal assault though, shield in the head, sword through the heart, not dueling with words and snipes.

Most of the day had been spent with decorating the salon, adding more cushions and heavy curtains. Not to mention the variety of sweets and wine, which were carefully spread throughout the room. Persephone grew up with the comfort of being nobility, but she'd never given coin so freely. Orlais seemed on a whole nother scale than the Free Marches and much more expensive. After closing the doors, she untied the bindings of her mask. The next hours would be spent without any kind of formality. She wore a simple tunic and comfy trousers to underline that sentiment, and her hair was tied up in one thick braid, without any endorsements. 

Corsets and pretty dresses would never truly fit her, making her shoulders look to wide and showing off her collection of scars.

Appearances were important and beauty shouldn't be marked by war.

She sat down with a heavy sigh. “Gaspard has left three days ago. Claimed that Wyvern hunting was more important than the pleasure of my company.” The wine tasted like berries and spring and she handed Julien a glass.

“Wyvern hunting is a dangerous way of comparing the lengths and strengths of their cocks. Believe me, it's all about size.”

She raised her brows.“So the man that actually hunts down the poor creature is crowned king of cocks?” To be honest, Persephone wouldn't be that surprised. Manly activities often ended with the allegoric measuring of private parts and Gaspard was a man very sure of his assets.

Laughing, Julien took another sip of wine and spread his arms. “We're in Orlais. Persephone, I'd say they vote for Emperor of cocks. Maybe Grand Duke of huge fleshy organs?”

She cringed. “Fantastic. Now I have to imagine Comte Faure's cock. I could have lived without that image being stuck in my mind.” It was probably withered with age, shrunken and covered in wrinkles. Not a sight, which seemed very alluring.

Julien's voice held a mocking tone. “I'm deeply sorry, my sweetling. Try thinking about about a more pleasant view.” Lounging on the chaise longue, looking very much at home and rather handsome, he himself seemed a more pleasing sight, and a far better conversationist than old Comte Faure, who'd sired five sons, each of them waiting for their father to die. 

“Lets drink more wine. I'm far too sober for this kind of conversation.” 

Persephone refilled their glasses and put a golden platter in front of Julien. 

“And you have to try those petit-fours. They're worth more than some people's lives, but taste absolutely fantastic.” A inventive baker had found a way to spread small, thin plates of gold atop the actual cakes, and claimed that nothing had ever tasted as sweet and wonderful. Persephone felt inclined to believe him.

After some careful chewing, Julien nodded and took another one. “Hm, delightful.”

“Yes, aren't they?” Persephone counted herself lucky, because she spend many hours with training and riding, and could enjoy sweet things without having to worry about not fitting into some dress.

“I need to order some for my next feast.” 

“To be served on some naked women and men?”

“Perhaps.” Meaning that those petit-fours would soon be found on a luscious pair of breasts or atop some rippling muscles. The thought made her stomache flutter in a most unwelcome way. She carefully ignored his knowing smirk and the subtle raising of his brows.

“So, you spent the last days as a kept woman? Bothering your servants? Buying expensive food? Waiting for the grand Emperor to return to your bed?” 

Julien looked amused. “Has Orlais made you soft already?”

Persephone huffed. “I also trashed a Chevalier's ass with defeating him in battle, bruising his pride and body.” The most famed warriors of Orlais still couldn't understand that one had to fight dirty, to actually win against her. She'd defeated Gaspard time and time again, because he kept to his code of honor and complained about being kicked in the shins afterward.

Julien chinked their glasses. “Glad to hear it. We wouldn't want you to lose your edge.”

“I'd never.”


End file.
